


Death's Oasis

by Arualiaa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Aftercare, Death!Voldemort, Dehumanization, Depersonalization, Dom Harry Potter, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Porn, Immortality, Introspection, M/M, Master of Death Harry Potter, Metaphors, Self-Dehumanization, Sub Tom Riddle, gentle dom harry potter, sanity slippage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 12:37:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18691648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arualiaa/pseuds/Arualiaa
Summary: Death's sanity would have slipped from its fingers like sand centuries ago if it weren't for its Master. Like an oasis, he is the only landscape in the desert of its mind.





	Death's Oasis

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kharmachaos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kharmachaos/gifts).



> This is a fill for Kharma's prompt: "The Master of Death includes another role: Death. Death is worn and tired and needs a bloody vacation, and since Tom bloody Riddle wants to be immortal so bad, he can have it! So Death passes on his role to Tom, once he dies... but with a caveat. Now, Harry is his Master >:D"

As much as Death was needed all over the world, it had the curious, strange impulse to visit Britain the most.

It wasn’t as if it could just ignore a call and not escort a soul through limbo, but being Death permitted it the small luxury of stalling.

After all, death was everywhere, all the time. It would warp time and space to its will to do its nigh-impossible job efficiently, and when its urge called, it simply shifted into a time where it had already performed its duties, effectively granting itself free time.

It was a little loophole it had found, and its Master did not mind. If anything, he seemed to gravitate towards these moments of peace and quiet, free of coaxing souls into accepting their own fate, sometimes kicking and screaming, sometimes with deep-set denial, sometimes with grim acceptance.

Even after all these centuries, it still managed to stir something in Death’s chest, an uncomfortable feeling where its heart used to be.

After all, it had once been one of these souls, pathetically frightful of itself, of Death. It had been dragged forcefully, writhing in a skeletal hand’s grip with the feral desperation of a madman.

It felt like so long ago. And yet, here it was, somewhere in the early 2020s, watching London with a vacant gaze. It was a bit closer to what Death remembered, the landscape not so changed, the landmarks still in place.

“Tom. It’s nice seeing you here, for once. You’ve been working yourself thin these days.”

There was only one being who would call Death by that name. Its first name, but certainly not its last.

Had it adopted its title too quickly? Had it been all too eager to shed any semblance of humanity? Death had always been chameleonic, it supposed, even in its mortal existence.

“Hello, Harry,” said Death, bowing curtly with its hooded head to its Master.

Its Master’s appearance did not seem to change. He was a handsome man, short but well-built by battle, and littered with scars. His emerald eyes held an eerie glow ever since he’d acquired formally acquired his title, just like the curse responsible for said promotion.

_‘You have your much-coveted immortality now, Tom Riddle,’ Death’s predecessor had said, and it’d snarled at the hooded figure like a wild animal._

_‘You shall pay for this! Lord Voldemort does not forgive, and does not forget,’ Death had yelled, back then. It was an empty threat, and both of them knew it._

_‘After the first thousand years you might,’ it said airily. ‘I am tired, mortal. This mantle frays at your sanity until nothing is left. This is why you shall take it from me, and I will finally rest.’_

_Death had had no real choice, because soon enough, the air between them shifted, and there was a sudden invisible weight on its shoulders. Its predecessor laughed freely, then, throwing back its skull in glee. It looked more translucent by the minute._

_‘When your Master dies, his soul will find its way to you, and you will not be able to take it away. He tethers between the worlds, untouchable by both. Follow his counsel, and you shall survive,’ it said. ‘Good luck, Death.’_

_And with that, it was gone. And instinctively, Death knew it had crossed over._

Its Master flickered into existence little more than twenty years later. A fierce battle, he had explained to Death, still in his torn auror robes. He was outnumbered ten to one, and still managed to stand his ground and take down six of them until a Killing Curse hit him in the back.

Magic sounded so foreign now to Death, who had lived far longer than those twenty years, in a bubble outside of time to collect every single soul. It was its duty, its burden, and every time someone died its whole form tingled unpleasantly until it was taken care of.

It had settled into its role by then, shedding its previous form in favour of the classic image of the grim reaper, like its predecessor. But sometimes, that changed too.

Sometimes it took the shape of a small dog, a child, or a trusted friend. It was mainly to coax children into following it, souls who did not understand what had happened to them, and would happily hug a puppy to soothe their nerves and follow it to where their ancestors lay waiting.

But his Master? No, his Master never changed. He had shed his robes in favour of a billowing black cloak, and that had been it. Perhaps it was because he had one foot in the mortal realm, but he seemed oddly content in not letting go of his humanity.

He was a gentle Master, all things said. Gentler than Death had been in life. Gentler than it deserved, even if such matters felt trivial now. He felt more like a companion, a caretaker, than a superior. His presence alone made Death reminisce, introspect.

And judging by his smile, he knew why Death had stayed silent this whole time.

“You can’t hide from your past forever, Tom. It tethers you to sanity. Remembering that you once were human isn’t a bad thing.”

Death turned away then, its legs dangling from the edge of the rooftop it had been sitting at. It could see each metacarpal peeking out from the edge of its cloak.

“ _You_ are my tether to sanity,” Death said, for it was the truth.

Its Master sat down next to it, then, pulling down its hood and stroking its skull softly with his thumb.

Death shamelessly drank in the contact, relishing it because it made it _feel_.

“That’s only because I make you feel like a man again,” its Master said, barely above a whisper. “And you get a reprieve from your task. Don’t you want that, Tom? To feel again?”

Yes, yes, yes, Death thought, building desperation rolling off it in waves. It felt like a mortal man in the middle of the desert, lost and dizzy, walking alone for decades, and its Master was the oasis that would quench its thirst.

Its predecessor never mentioned this feeling, that built up every time. Maybe it had never had a Master, and Death pitied it, for it had wanted to disappear before even savouring the feeling.

“Show me your true form, then,” its Master said, and as gentle as he was, it could recognize the command. Death was all too eager to obey.

Its true form. It was not a wraith, it was not a waxy-skinned man with red eyes, and it was not a serpentine monster.

Its true form, Death found out, was none other than what its mortal self would have been, in other circumstances, at its prime.

A mortal man with high cheekbones and placid grey eyes, not a trace of crimson, sat barefoot in Death’s place. The soft breeze ruffled its hair and its cloak.

It felt content. It was safe here, alongside the creature who belonged to neither world, who made it feel things that it should be impossible for Death to feel.

Death felt its chin being tilted towards its Master, and their lips connected, and Death drank _deeply_ from that oasis of sanity until its body shook, overwhelmed with emotion.

Death, the figurehead who struck fear into the hearts of most mortals, was reduced to little more than a trembling mess in front of its Master, as he helped it stand and pulled them away from the edge.

Cloaks and robes were set aside, the stars above the only witness to their intimacy.

Death, the concept, had always been described as cold. And yet Death, the being, always found itself thinking of solitary deserts, no one around as far as the eye could see, blistering sunshine, and a thirst that could never be quenched.

And when it took a deep-dive and the oasis sank into it, its cool waters pleasantly chilling it to the bone, Death felt relief it hadn’t felt in a very long time, it felt, if that was even possible, _alive_.

“You’re always so tight for me,” its Master cooed, stroking its hair softly, waiting for the water to settle down before its calming waves rocked Death to oblivion.

“You will find, Harry, that nobody else would want to do this with me, let alone be able to,” Death said, its voice husky, and not from disuse. “And I would not want them to, either. Only you.”

Deeper it went as their position shifted, and Death’s Master was pulling it into a tender, languid kiss.

And the oasis was rocking it gently in its rolling waves, and Death squirmed and noises escaped its throat as the ecstasy built up, emotions piling high, and Death, a timeless creature, utterly lost track of it.

It did not know how long it had been, until the waters spilled over, into it, over it, and it was one with the oasis, a helpless puddle in the middle of a lake.

Water spilled from its eyes, too. It had been ashamed the first handful of times. Its Master had told it that it was just how the mortal body processed overwhelming emotion, good or bad, and since its mind was in a mortal mindset at the moment, there was no shame in it.

Its Master was holding it now, still inside of it, stroking its hair as he pulled it closer. Death clung to him, skin against skin, chest heaving with sobs. Of relief, of longing because their visits were too short and too far-between, of joy, of sadness… it did not know, it was overwhelmed.

“That’s it, Tom… let yourself _feel_ , let it out, let it out…” Its Master said softly, and Death felt _safesafesafe_ as its tears fell on its Master’s bare shoulder. The advantages of it being taller than him was that in this position, it was easier to nestle its face into his neck. “You are so good, so good… I won’t let you lose yourself, I’m here to protect you. I promise you that.”

And its Master always kept his promises.

It was like this, with tears still falling freely from its eyes, in its Master’s embrace, that Death lost consciousness like a mere mortal man. It was okay, though. Its Master would be with it when it woke up, to properly part ways. He wouldn’t dare leave it alone like this. He had promised, once.

And Death’s Master, Death’s oasis, always kept his promises.


End file.
